Love Beyond: Walang Hanggang Pagmamahal

by Grant Leishman

  Hernando unlocked the cell door and opened it wide, as they entered. Arturo gave no indication of having even heard the pair arrive, as he continued his silent litany.

  “Art… Art, it’s me, Minda,” she ventured. When she received no response, she tried again, but much louder this time. “Art… can you hear me, Art. It’s me, Minda!”

  His eyes slowly opened and he gazed, forlornly at Minda and Hernando. They could see that his shoulder, although bandaged at the stump, was still weeping blood and he was clearly in pain. His eyes twisted slightly as a spasm ran through his body, but oddly, his lips turned up into a smile. “Come to kill me have you?” he croaked. “You may as well do. I’m already dead, anyway.” His short bark of a laugh quickly turned into a full-fledged coughing fit and both Hernando and Minda were moved to rush to his side.

  “Rest easy Arturo,” Hernando offered, patting him gently on the back. “No, we’re certainly not here to kill you and you have nothing to fear from us… in fact,” he continued, “we’ve brought you some fresh and healthy food.” He whipped the coverings off the bowls they carried, with a flourish and then proudly reached down into his shirt to pull out the half-full tankard of beer. “Thought you could probably do with a drink, as well. I don’t doubt they don’t give you enough water to drink around here.”

  Arturo gazed at his ‘saviours’, confusion written on his face, but he was thirsty and yes, he was hungry, so without questioning their motivations, he grabbed at the tankard and swilled a goodly portion of it, before attacking the adobo and rice with gusto, using his bare right hand, as is the Filipino tradition. Hernando and Minda, realising his extreme need for sustenance moved away and both sat down on the dry, dusty, dirt to await his completion, their backs resting against the cell wall. Arturo never took his eyes or his focus off the task at hand and completed eating the food, right down to the last grain of rice. Finishing his meal with a flourish, by downing the last of the precious, amber, liquid, he sat back, replete and for the first time in a few days, relatively comfortable.

  He looked up at Hernando and Minda, raising his eyebrows in query, but smiling at them, as well.

  Minda smiled back. “Art, we did it because you were… you are my friend. We both wanted to talk to you about what happened on the parade-ground. Hernando told me that you two had already talked on the way here and you had made everything all right. That’s why when you attacked Hernando it came as such a shock to both of us. We just want to know why Art?” She was wringing her hands as she spoke and Hernando felt a surge of love and compassion for this amazing woman who could face her husband’s attacker with such calmness and such rationality. He was incredibly proud of her.

  They watched Arturo’s face crumple in pain, but they knew it was emotional pain, not physical. The tears fell unbidden and unnoticed down his cheeks as he contemplated her words. His loud sobbing filled the cell, but neither of them moved to comfort him. They both intuitively knew he needed to get this out of his system. He needed to grieve for his own life, which he had so recklessly thrown away by the attack on Hernando. Perhaps ten minutes passed, where the only sound was the wracking sobs of Arturo, reverberating around the cell walls.

  Finally, he used the sleeve of his good arm to wipe away the remaining tears and to snort loudly, to try and clear his nose. In an act of simple compassion, Hernando undid the bandanna around his neck and moving across the floor, held it under Arturo’s nose, encouraging him to blow. Arturo smiled at him before complying. “Thank you. You’re a good man Hernando. Minda deserves someone as good and decent as you. Thank you.”

  Hernando tucked the bandanna into Arturo’s shirt pocket before rocking back on his heels and asking that question again, “so, why Art? Why?”

  Arturo sighed deeply, before beginning. “Minda is right. I had come to terms with the pair of you being together. I didn’t like it.” He chuckled. “In fact, I hated it, but you know, deep inside me, I knew she was better off with you. I knew you two were meant to be together and much as I loved her…” he flicked his gaze at Minda, “… still love her, if truth be told, I was happy she’d found someone to love her as much as she loved him…” his voice trailed off before he looked up and finished. “I know she didn’t love me… in that way, so yes, I accepted it, reluctantly.”

  Minda’s face was a mix of concern and confusion. “You’re right Art. I do love you, like a brother, but certainly not in the way I love Hernando. So, if you had come to terms with us being together, I have to ask you again, why?”

  Arturo sighed heavily, before looking at Minda. “Do you remember Kristoffer? Kristoffer Davalo?”

  Minda gasped. “Yes, Artie, of course I remember him. He was killed in that raid on the Spanish Camp in Santa Maria.” As the penny began to drop, she looked across at Hernando, whose face assured her also knew where this was going. “So, what about Kristoffer?”

  He looked directly at Hernando. “Kristoffer Davalo was a thirteen-year-old kid and he was gutted by the sword of a Spanish Officer.” He pointed the index finger of his remaining hand directly at Hernando’s chest. “That Spanish Officer, was you, wasn’t it?”

  Hernando gasped but kept his equilibrium. “Yes, Arturo, it was me that killed that little boy and believe me I still have nightmares about his death. I had no idea he was so young. I was trying to avenge the attack on our camp and instead, I ended the life of a child, whose life had not yet really begun.” He looked at Arturo, beseeching some understanding from him. “I have regretted that moment every minute of every day since it happened. If I could turn back time and do it again, differently, believe me, Arturo, I would,” he finished, his face twisted in anguish.

  “Well,” Arturo continued. “About three months ago I began having dreams about Kristoffer… nightmares really. I know I didn’t see what happened, but in my dreams, Kristoffer kept appearing in front of me, his hands held in front of his stomach, trying to prevent his insides from pouring out, blood dripping all over his hands. ‘Avenge me Arturo’, he kept saying to me, over and over again, ‘Avenge me’!” Arturo placed his one hand in front of his face and squeezed hard as if trying to keep his sanity intact. “I was terrified to go to sleep. The moment I closed my eyes, there was Kristoffer, covered in blood, begging me to avenge him. It was driving me insane.”

  Arturo ceased talking and sat there taking large gulps of the hot, fetid atmosphere inside the stockade. Minda looked first at Hernando, who was crumpled on the floor, his fingers raking through his hair and tears flowing down his cheeks. She looked at Arturo who appeared to be slipping away into unconsciousness, or insanity, she wasn’t sure which. Knowing she needed to take control of the situation before she lost both of them, she shouted; “STOP THIS NOW!”

  Both of them jerked upright at the sound of her raised voice and stared questioningly at her. “Now, listen to me both of you. What’s happened is done. Nothing we can do will change what happened. Hernando has to live with the fact that he killed a child and Art, you have to accept that Hernando did not do this act maliciously or wantonly. Kristoffer may not truly have known the risks when he agreed to help Carlos and the KKK, but he did so freely, of his own volition. It’s awful what happened, but it is what it is. We have to get over it and move on.”

  Hernando stared at her in wonder. “When did you get to be so smart and wise,” he quipped.

  Minda, still totally serious, just stared back at him. “I had a good teacher, my darling.” She flicked her gaze to Arturo. “Art?” she enquired.

  Arturo shook his head. “What can I say? You’re totally right. I know Hernando would never have killed Kristoffer if he had known how old he was. I should have given him the benefit of the doubt.” He looked across at Hernando. “I know it’s not worth a hell of a lot, but I am sorry for what I did.”

  Hernando grinned back, “you have no idea how much it is worth, my friend. It means everything to me, to hear you say that.”

  Arturo chuckled wryly. “Ha! Not that it makes a blind bit of
difference to me. I’ll be dead anyway. The General will see to that. There’ll be no mercy for the likes of me, I’m afraid.”

  Minda glanced at her husband and an unspoken message appeared to travel between the pair.

  “Don’t be so sure about that Arturo,” Hernando responded as if in reply to the thought Minda had sent him. He pushed himself over towards where Arturo sat and leant in to whisper conspiratorially into his ear. “Hmmm, it seems to me this stockade is not the most secure facility in the world and God knows the guards are anything but efficient.” Pausing, for effect, he finished. “You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if one day I woke up to the news a prisoner had escaped from our stockade.” He smiled and winked at Arturo.

  Art’s face seems to light up and it appeared a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulder. “Are you serious Hernando? You two would help me… even after everything I’ve done?”

  Hernando chuckled. “Perhaps, because of everything you’ve done. Now, you’d better understand what this will mean. You’ll have to get right away from Bulacan, you’ll probably even have to change your name and start again somewhere else, where nobody knows you. Can you do that? Do you have any ideas where you could go?”

  Arturo leant back and scratched his chin. “Hmmm, I have some distant relatives in Iloilo who might be able to look after me. I could definitely go there.” He looked again at Hernando. “Are you sure you want to do this Hernando? What if you are caught?”

  It only took a brief glance at Minda to confirm what he already knew. They would assist Arturo to escape the executioners’ bullets. “Yes Art, we’re both certain.” He stood up, offering his hand to lift his wife to her feet. “For now, we’d better get back to work. You be ready to go in a few weeks, once your wounds are better healed. We’ll let you know when and we’ll come for you.”

  They walked to the cell door and let themselves out, locking it behind them. As they left the block, Minda turned, gave Arturo a massive smile and blew him a kiss, who just continued to sit on his cell floor, gently shaking his head from side to side, in utter wonder, at the turn of events.

  ***

  ARTURO ESCAPES:

  Organising Arturo’s escape was fairly easy for Hernando. As second in command at the fort nobody, but the General would ever question anything he did or ordered. He had total free reign to run the fort exactly the way he saw fit. When Hernando made his way to the cell block, a few weeks after his and Minda’s initial visit to Arturo, he was thrilled to see how well Art had responded to the treatment he had ordered for him. So often, a wound, as severe as losing a limb, would mean a slow and painful death, with gangrene setting in and poisoning his blood. But, he had made sure the local women were sent to visit Art twice-daily, with poultices and potions designed to protect him from such ravages.

  Hernando didn’t know a hell of a lot about modern medicine. In fact, if the truth be known, he disparaged many of the seemingly barbaric practices of western doctors back in Spain. The Filipino people had been treating, successfully, their own injuries for thousands of years and knew the medicinal properties of almost every plant growing in the lush tropical rainforests. Not for the first time, he marvelled at the sophistication of these wonderful peoples, who his countrymen so disparagingly dismissed as ‘noble savages’. In many ways they are way more advanced, in their understanding of life and what is important, than the supposedly enlightened aristocrats back home, he thought.

  He had also seen to it that Arturo had been fed properly. It was common practice to feed prisoners scraps that even the pigs might struggle to eat, but Hernando had organised for the medicine women, who visited him, to take substantial amounts of food and water to him, to keep his strength up and to fight off disease. Hernando had had a virulent argument with the General about the way he was ‘coddling’ the prisoner. The General’s feeling was understandable; that Arturo was a traitor and an attempted murderer and as such deserved no special treatment. “I’m going to have the little bastard shot anyway, as a warning to anyone else who gets ideas like that. I need to make an example of him. So, why fatten him up, like a pig before we slaughter it?” he had demanded of Hernando.

  Hernando had responded to the General’s insistence by reminding him that the Spanish considered the Filipino’s to be nothing more than ‘little brown savages’. “If we treat our own, with cruelty and malice, are we not just confirming what the enemy thinks? That we are savages? No Sir, Arturo did something very wrong and yes, he does deserve to be tried for that crime, but nevertheless, he was a brave revolutionary of the Philippine Army and if he must be condemned to death, he deserves to die with some dignity.”

  “Well, you do continue to surprise me, Colonel de Abreu,” the General commented. “Considering it was you the little bugger wanted to kill, I’m surprised you can find it in yourself to be so gracious towards him now.”

  Hernando just smiled. “Call it my aristocratic morals, or call it a weakness; but, whatever, I just think Arturo doesn’t deserve to be slaughtered like some feral animal.”

  The General had nodded his understanding and added, “so be it then. The trial will commence in a few days when I have some time.”

  When Hernando entered Arturo’s cell, he could tell the young man was genuinely pleased to see him. Because the sentry was still watching, they refrained from any physical contact, but the smile that passed between the pair clearly indicated all enmity was finally put to rest between them. Once the guard was satisfied, he retired back to his chair, putting his feet back up on the desk and pulling his hat half over his face to cover his eyes.

  Hernando grinned. The guards’ lackadaisical attitude to their prisoner would certainly work in Arturo’s favour. He handed Arturo a copy he had gotten made of the cell door key. Explaining to him, after he had subdued the guard, who would be almost certainly sleeping and tied and gagged him, he would need to return to his cell and use a piece of iron rod or something similar to break the lock, so it would not appear a key had been used to effect his escape.

  “Once you are out of the cell block, head to the livery stable. Minda and I will meet you there and supply you with a horse and some supplies to see you on your way,” he explained.

  “So, how will I get out of the main gate?” Arturo queried.

  “Ahhhh, now that’s where we’ve been clever,” Hernando chuckled. “We’re going to use the oldest trick in the book to get those gates open. Once you are in position, I will sound the alarm that we are under Spanish attack and order my men to mount up and ride out of the main gate to meet the advancing Spaniards. As soon as our Company rides through the gates, I will take them to the left, into the forest and you will ride out after us and head to the right.” He paused and looked hard at Arturo. “Don’t stop for anyone Art and if necessary shoot your way out. We’ll give you a pistol at the livery stable. My guess though, is you’ll be through the gate and away before anyone is any the wiser.” Grinning at his plan, he added, “They’ll probably just think you were a straggler from my Company and not even raise the alarm.”

  Arturo took a deep breath before smiling at him. “Thank you so much, Hernando. I certainly don’t deserve this kindness from you… not after what I did…” his voice trailed off.

  Hernando clapped him on his good shoulder. “Well, my friend, you can thank my good wife, her loving and caring heart for that.”

  Arturo sighed, sadly. “You’re not wrong about that Hernando… she is definitely some woman, our Minda.” Bristling, a little with indignation and jealousy over Arturo’s use of the word ‘our’, he calmed when he saw the total sincerity and admiration shining from Arturo’s eyes. After some general discussion about the future and what Arturo planned to do once he got to Iloilo, Hernando woke the guard up as he called for him to open the cell and let him out.

  “Ohhhh, when do I escape?” Arturo hurriedly asked.

  “Oooops, I forgot to mention that ha! Ahhhm, you go tomorrow night at around eight; the middle of the shift, for the gua
rds. As I said, we’ll be in the livery stable waiting for you. We’d expect you to get there before nine, so make sure you are.” With one final reassuring squeeze on his shoulder and a secret wink, Hernando spun on his heels and left Arturo to think about tomorrow night.

  ***

  Minda and Hernando crouched down behind some hay bales in the livery stable. It was almost nine O’clock and they were beginning to worry whether Arturo would make it. “Perhaps he had some trouble subduing the guard, Hernando,” she whispered to him.

  “Perhaps I should go and check if he’s okay,” he responded. Just then, the door to the livery stable creaked open and Arturo stood in the doorway, looking around for the pair. Smiling now, she stood up and walked over to her friend, gently holding him in a hug, careful not to bump his wounded shoulder.

  “We were worried about you. You took so long,” she ventured.

  Arturo chuckled, “bloody guard wanted to talk. Took him forever to go to sleep. I am now a world authority on Private Domingo’s relationship with his wife; the one who hits him regularly – even though he hasn’t done anything wrong. Hahaha!” They shared the private joke with him before Hernando took control.

  “Right, here is your horse,” he said, leading out a glorious, bay stallion. “There isn’t anything faster in this fort,” Hernando informed him. “He will get you safely to where you need to go.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “If I were you, I’d try to avoid Manila as much as possible. Head down south to Albay and then use small bankas (small privately owned boats used as ferries amongst the islands) to get to Iloilo. We’ve given you plenty of provisions for the trip,” he added. “And here is your pistol,” handing Arturo his own personal pistol he’d brought with him from Spain.

  Looking at the horse, Arturo whistled sharply between his teeth. “Hernando, you do realise this is the General’s horse, don’t you? Are you sure you want me to take this? It’s the General’s horse for God’s sake. What’s he going to say?”